


Flaws in Contentment

by ScottieIsImpatient



Series: Tears in Solace [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, Tuckerreed, eventual slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25315177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottieIsImpatient/pseuds/ScottieIsImpatient
Summary: Trip has been waiting for this moment for two months and four days. After recovering from his injury on Earth, Malcolm Reed finally returns to Enterprise to resume his duties. Trip is still heartbroken over the end of their short but memorable relationship and tries to rekindle the flame, but two months of absence have flung Malcolm's walls right back up. It may already be too late to fix that which is broken.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed & Charles "Trip" Tucker III, Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Series: Tears in Solace [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803229
Comments: 31
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romajstorovic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romajstorovic/gifts).



> Thanks to Rowan for beta reading and forcing me to get this done.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy the conclusion fic in the Tears in Solace series!
> 
> Heads up: a ----- indicates a POV change. This one swaps between Trip and Malcolm occasionally, to clear up some info that could not be otherwise revealed in only one perspective.

A soft wind whistles through the branches of the trees, creating an almost haunting feel in the silent and dead streets. Commander Tucker stands as still as a statue on the pavement, his breathing soft and almost non-existent, his eyes hollow. The only thing that moves is his sandy blond hair which twirls as the breeze plays with it. He cannot move a single inch- not even to blink.

A voice calls his name. Its tone is laced with desperation and fear.

_Trip!_

But Trip cannot move and as such, he can’t do anything when the world around him implodes and everything is thrust into a white expanse.

Trip doesn’t jerk awake like they do in movies, though he is drenched in sweat. A further check reveals that he’s kicked his blanket off the bed at some point. He brings a hand to his forehead. He thought the nightmares were over- if you could even call them nightmares. They give him a sense of uneasiness more than anything.

At any rate, he isn’t getting back to sleep now.

With a small grunt, Trip pushes himself up into a sitting position and, after a few seconds, to his feet. He fell asleep in his jumpsuit half off and sees no reason to get changed. It’s just going to get dirty again, after all.

Trip makes his way down the hall on dragging feet. He’s still half asleep; stumbling along like a zombie from that movie they watched two nights ago. What was it? World War… something. An old 21st century thriller. Ensign Walsh, with an apparent passion for various sci-fi plots, chose it. Trip spent most of the time wondering how Malcolm would react to the amount of brutal fighting there was and the rest of the time trying not to cry.

Malcolm. He’s coming back today. Trip almost forgot. He should feel happy, right? Overjoyed. Yet he doesn’t. The last time they saw each other, Malcolm pulled a “it’s not you it’s me” speech and broke up with him. Sure, Trip can understand from an objective point of view, but relationships aren’t meant to be _taken_ from an objective point of view. They come from the heart and that’s that.

Was Malcolm’s heart just not in it?

Trip decides it’s much too early to be thinking such things right now. With a shake of his head, he steps into the scarcely populated mess hall. Aside from the regular night shift crew he’s surprised to find Ensign Mayweather seated alone at a table surrounded by PADDS. Once Trip’s grabbed his breakfast – simple toast and eggs – he joins the helmsman.

“Hey, Travis.”

Travis jumps a bit, clearly lost in whatever he’s reading. “Commander!” A look of surprise crosses his face. “I didn’t expect you to be up this early. We don’t start for another half hour.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” says Trip simply. He starts poking at his eggs. Scrambled. They taste decent, but no one can make scrambled eggs like his good ol’ dad.

He wonders if Malcolm enjoyed the familiar Earth food. Did he eat anything cooked by his own family?

Trip, their resident chatterbox, just can’t seem to find an appropriate conversation starter. He and Travis sit in silence, until the helmsman clears his throat. “I should be getting to the ready for duty,” he says.

“A’right,” Trip says with a nod. “Have fun.”

Have _fun_? What on earth?

Travis doesn’t comment on this, luckily, and scoops up his PADDs and leaves the mess hall. Trip continues poking at his eggs, but he can’t seem to stomach anything else and ends up leaving as well.

When he gets to his quarters, the first thing he does is flop onto his bed with a long, drawn out sigh. The sleep-deprived side of him wants to curl up in the sheets and wake up in three days but he only has twenty minutes until his shift starts and he’s not about to admit to Doctor Phlox that he needs more sleep. That man – Denobulan – has won enough victories.

His intercom chirps. “ _Archer to Commander Tucker.”_

“Tucker here, sir.”

_“We have an hour to go.”_

Trip furrows his brow. “An hour t’ what?”

Archer goes silent for a moment, and the meaning finally sinks in for Trip the moment the captain begins speaking again. _“We’re me-”_

“Malcolm!”

How could he have forgotten already?

Archer laughs at Trip’s exclamation. _“Yep. You told me yesterday you wanted to be notified when we were getting close. The_ Sovur _just sent us a hail: they’re going to be reaching the rendezvous point in less than twenty minutes. We should be there not long after.”_

“Tha’s great, Cap’n,” Trip says with a grin. “When do ya want me to meet ya in the shuttle bay?”

“It doesn’t have to be right now, Trip. How about I comm you?”

“Sounds good,” Trip agrees. “I’m just gunna freshen up, then I’ll be in the armoury.”

“May I ask why?”

“Just t’ make sure everythin’ is spick an’ span for our Lieutenant, sir. Tucker out.”

He takes a shower, revelling in the jet streams of hot water for as long as his fluttering heart will let him. Time seems to go by at a snail’s pace and lightning fast at the same time.

Foregoing his earlier thought, Trip changes into a fresh uniform, thinking that perhaps it’s worth it after all. Then he heads for the armoury.

Being in the odd limbo-like hours, the crew is a mixture of alpha and night shift. An exhausted ensign clambers into the elevator with him. She seems to be trying not to look at her commander’s hastily put together appearance and hurriedly exits the elevator on D deck.

What he said to Archer about checking out the armoury had been a slight lie. He hasn’t been in the armoury for days, and the emptiness slams into him the moment he walks through the door. For a moment, he glances over to Malcolm’s usual desk, half expecting to see the man there fiddling with his scanners. _Soon,_ Trip reminds himself.

“Commander!” Tanner calls from across the room. Trip turns towards the ensign, who has momentarily paused his target practice simulation.

“Mornin’, ensign,” Trip greets. In Malcolm’s absence, he’s gotten to know quite a few of the armoury personnel. “At it early, huh?”

“I like being ready,” Tanner says simply. He taps in a code and the simulation shuts down, then hops off the platform. “Have you heard anything?”

“An hour. Less now, I’d reckon.”

“Awesome.” The ensign’s face splits into a boyish grin and he places the phase pistol back into the cabinet.

Ensign Meng comes clambering down the ladder to his right, skipping the last three rungs. “Fancy seeing you here, Commander.”

“You as well. Shouldn’t you be up at tactical on the bridge?”

“They didn’t need me,” Meng says with a shrug. “Now, what are you here for? Come to make sure the place hasn’t burned down?”

“Something like that,” Trip chuckles.

Meng waves her hand. “Well, see for yourself. I’ve kept the place exactly as Lieutenant Reed left it. He should walk in and feel right at home.”

Trip wishes she had her optimism. Or, at least, her ability to hide the obvious strain behind her tone. It seems Malcolm rubbed off on anyone he met _except_ Trip.

“Something wrong?” Meng asks, pulling Trip from his thoughts.

He plasters a half-hearted grin on his face. “Nothin’. Just thinking. I should be goin’.”

“I’ll see you around, then.”

Trip only nods.

He fluffs around in engineering for a bit, making sure everything is working smoothly and to engage in the occasional small talk with his crew. Excitement and anticipation radiate off the walls- their Lieutenant Reed has made more of an impression than he gives himself credit for.

Engineering’s comm chirps just as Trip’s about to leave. Shooting an apologetic at Crewman Eddie, he goes to answer it. “Tucker.”

 _“Ah, there you are!”_ exclaims Archer. _“I comm’ed the armoury and Ensign Meng said you’d already left.”_

Trip brings a palm to his forehead. “S’rry, Cap’n. I lost track o’ time. How long t’ the rendezvous point?

_“Five minutes now.”_

“I’m on my way.”

Trip runs into the Captain just as he heads for the turbolift- Archer and Travis are exiting it. Archer smiles when he sees him. “Hey, Trip. How’s the armoury looking?”

“Just fine, sir.”

“Very good.”

Trip practically skips along behind the captain and helmsman like an excited schoolboy. His heart is skipping beats and threatening to break through his ribcage. He’s been counting the days since Malcolm would return, which wasn’t really set until just recently. Two months and four days. Two months and four days without their best tactical officer.

They hadn’t run into nearly as many conflicts in Malcolm’s absence- a move Trip swears (but Archer denies) was deliberate. Now, he’s returning to them, and Trip is so nervous he feels on the verge of throwing up.

Or is that because he ate so little breakfast?

 _Enterprise_ slows from warp three to warp one, then to half impulse before it stops altogether. Trip’s heart stalls along with it.

Out the window he can see the Vulcan ship _Sovur_ in all its’ technological glory. What he would give to get even the smallest look at their engines, or maybe the tractor beam they used to get Malcolm and Travis off that comet last year.

Trip has a hard time focusing on the bay door controls; too wound up in his own anticipation. If the shuttlepod ends up getting a scratch, he has no one to blame but himself.

“You okay, Commander?” Archer asks, eyeing him.

Trip nods. “Fine.”

The two of them don’t take their eyes off the shuttlepod as it approaches the _Sovur._ It stays for a little longer than last time – Trip can imagine the excitement between Malcolm and Travis. They were good friends, after all – before finally undocking and returning to the ship. Trip closes the doors a split second too early, causing yet another scratch to appear on the shuttle’s hull, but he could care less at this point.

With Archer following close behind, Trip darts into the main launch area, a smile splitting his face in two. Travis emerges from the shuttle exhibiting the same expression. “Gentlemen,” the ensign says in a mock “announcer” voice, “may I present- one _Lieutenant_ Malcolm Reed.”

And Malcolm emerges from the shuttle and Trip stops in his tracks, the world slowing down around him.

Malcolm’s hair is short cropped, eerily similar to when he first boarded the ship back on their first day. His uniform is ironed and crisp as always- no sign of wrinkles anywhere. As Captain Archer goes down to greet him, the ghost of a smile plays on his lips.

 _I’m looking at his lips,_ Trip realizes. He quickly looks away and time resumes.

“Good to see you, sir,” Malcolm says as he gives Archer’s hand a shake. His voice is even and calm, but Trip picks up on the subtle joy behind his tone. Malcolm is just as glad he’s back as they all are.

Malcolm’s gaze moves across the room until it settles on Trip, and all of a sudden, Trip’s mouth is dry. He can’t remember what he was going to say. Welcome back? Nice to see you? Too dry. Much too dry for someone who used to be his lover.

“H-hi,” Trip stutters out meekly. Then he mentally kicks himself.

But Malcolm smiles warmly and says, “hey, Trip,” and sticks his hand out for a handshake.

Well, Trip’s having none of that.

Grabbing Malcolm’s hand, Trip instead pulls them together and wraps his arms tightly around his neck, burying his face in the crook of Malcolm’s neck, taking in the familiar scent. The surrounding world falls away, leaving only Trip and Malcolm in a blissfully peaceful white void. “I’m glad yer back,” Trip whispers.

He can’t ignore the way Malcolm’s shoulders tense up at the words and its surprise that forces him to pull away. The world falls back into place.

Malcolm has taken to looking at the Commander’s shoes as opposed to his face, expression unreadable. Trip doesn’t trust himself to speak. He’s worried the questions and accusations will come spilling out and break things between them even more.

Fortunately, Archer fills in the silence. “Well, Lieutenant, I’m sure you’re anxious to be getting back to your quarters.”

Malcolm glances up like he’s just been jerked out of another world. “Oh, erm, yes.”

“Commander,” Captain Archer looks in Trip’s direction, “would you mind walking Lieutenant Reed to his quarters?”

Trip sputters out “I have work to do” at the exact same time Malcolm hastily says, “that won’t be necessary.”

The look Archer casts between them is one of great confusion. “Alright,” he says slowly. “In that case, Trip, you’re dismissed.” The last word comes out sounding like a question.

Giving a nod that Trip is ashamed to say feels relieved, he takes one more glance at Malcolm standing there before turning on his heel and bolting out of the shuttlebay.

\------

Malcolm should’ve expected it. He’s the bloody tactical officer after all- it’s his job to be ready for anything.

 _I suppose,_ he thinks, _“ready for anything” was never quite meant to be taken in this context._

Malcolm watches with an aching heart as Trip nods at his dismissal and races up the steps towards the door. Indeed, he should have expected that Trip would be one of the first people he saw when boarding _Enterprise_ again. Had he even the slightest bit of competence, he would have prepared himself for the emotional toll it would take. Trip never was one for seeing the practical side of things. He would never fully understand, Malcolm thinks, _why_ he was broken up with.

But Malcolm can’t afford to get attached to anyone because of his profession, no matter what feelings he has. Trip will move on eventually. An easygoing guy like that is sure to find someone waiting just around the corner.

Is that jealousy Malcolm is feeling?

“Lieutenant,” says Archer, dragging him out of his thoughts for the second time in less than five minutes.

Malcolm straightens up and meets his captain’s eyes. “Yes, sir?”

“I was wondering if perhaps I could have a word with you.”

Looking around, Malcolm realizes that Travis has vanished; likely back up to the bridge. “A word about what, sir?”

Archer sighs, and that’s how Malcolm realizes exactly what it’s all about.

“Why I received a notice just last month pertaining to your apparent transfer request.”

Malcolm’s mind blanks. For one long, agonizing minute, he can do nothing but stare at his captain; his mind whirring at well warp five. “I, er…”

“Is there something you aren’t happy about on the ship, Malcolm?” Archer’s voice has softened considerably. “If it’s to do with the security protocols-”

“I am not that petty, sir,” says Malcolm before he can stop himself. He takes a deep breath and tries again. “No, captain. In fact, my experiences on _Enterprise_ have been nothing but pleasant.”

“The crew, then,” Archer continues. “Listen, Malcolm. As Captain of the ship, it’s my duty to know what’s going on between my crew. Especially the senior officers.”

“Sir-”

Archer raises a hand. “I don’t know all the details, Malcolm. Most of my information comes from rumours which are, in themselves, not always reliable, but I know enough. Did something happen between you and Commander Tucker?”

Malcolm shuffles his feet awkwardly. Unprompted, the conversation he had with his father not two months prior invades his mind.

_This is what you deserve- going against your bloodline like this._

“Malcolm?”

Great, now Archer looks even _more_ worried.

“Yes, sir,” Malcolm chokes out. “Something did happen between myself and Tr- Commander Tucker. Respectfully, however, I would appreciate it if the subject were dropped.”

Archer nods in understanding, his brow furrowed. “Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” Malcolm lies. “I would just like to take some time to… readjust.”

Forget what he thought earlier- no amount of training could ever have prepared him for this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter. Don't worry, things start to get interesting in the next one.
> 
> And by interesting I mean angsty.

“Watch where ya put that transponder, Almack!” Trip snaps from the upper catwalk of engineering. “Are you _tryin’_ t’ blow this ship up?”

“Sorry, sir,” the ensign squeaks.

Trip sighs and leans heavily into the railings, using one oil stained hand to brush back his mussed hair. Not even ten yet and he’s already longing to crawl back into bed to- sleep? Cry? Maybe both.

The way Malcolm looked at him in the shuttlebay hurt. It was as if they were strangers – acquaintances at best – and the tenseness when they hugged only rubbed salt in the wound. Trip felt like he’d lost a part of himself when they made that physical contact.

Someone taps his shoulder and shoves a PADD in front of his face. Still only half there, he takes it and pretends to read over what’s written on it.

“Commander?” says a voice eerily similar to that of Hoshi Sato’s and Trip is forced into reality.

“Captain Archer asked me to bring this to you,” the ensign says, gesturing to the PADD. “Are you alright?”

“Why’re you askin’?” It comes out harsher than he expected. Trip quickly ducks his gaze and swipes through the list that Captain has written; mostly engineering checks he already did yesterday.

“I would have expected you and Malcolm to be all over each other,” Hoshi continues casually. “You guys weren’t exactly the definition of ‘subtle’ two months ago.”

If Trip had a drink, he would have spat it out. _“What?”_

“Not to everyone,” the linguist adds quickly. There’s a playful smirk on her face. “But body language is just another language, and those who know how to read it can gather a lot from it.”

“Right.”

“So, what happened? Not to pry.”

“T’ be honest, Hoshi, you _are_ sorta prying.” Trip steps over to one of the stations and fiddles with the conduction settings.

Hoshi’s shoulders droop slightly and Trip sighs.

“Nothin’ happened, okay? Sometimes things aren’t meant t’ work out.”

“Do you believe in fate, Commander?” Hoshi asks suddenly.

“Is this a trick question?”

“No.”

“Then no, I don’t.” Trip moves on to inspect some of the conduits that run on the back wall. Being idle is something one can’t afford when they’re chief engineer.

“Then why do you believe it wasn’t ‘meant to work out’?” Hoshi inquires slyly.

Trip freezes with his hand hovering over the PADD. Now, Hoshi has him cornered, as she often does. Out of his peripheral vision he sees the corner of her lips quirk upwards.

“Your silence is an answer in itself,” she says. “Honestly, how can the both of you be this stubborn? I know men typically are but not to _this_ level.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true, don’t look at me!” Hoshi holds up her hands and chuckles. “You two really just gotta talk, Commander. There’s nothing wrong with talking.”

“I never said there was,” says Trip, “but this is _Malcolm_ we’re talkin’ about. D’you really think he’s one to just sit down for a ‘chat’?”

The linguist shrugs. “You’d be surprised. I just had a rather nice conversation with him. About food, of all things.”

“Yer different.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hoshi folds her arms and raises one eyebrow. “How?”

Trip hesitates before he answers. “Yer not his ex,” he says softly, and Hoshi’s eyes widen.

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s alright,” Trip interrupts with a sigh. He hands the PADD back to her. “Tell Archer I’ve mostly got all this finished, but whatever isn’t is in the works right now.”

Hoshi nods mutely and disappears.

It takes a couple of days for things to settle back into a routine Trip finds almost unsettling. To everyone else, it’s like Malcolm was never gone at all. The space at tactical no longer feels empty and the armoury buzzes with activity.

So why does Trip still feel lost?

Taking another reluctant bite of his lunch, Trip does his best to tune into the conversation around him. Travis tells a joke and they all laugh and Trip forces himself to laugh too, but his focus is elsewhere.

Namely, on Malcolm, who is sitting across the mess hall with only a PADD and a cup of coffee for company. He’s been back on duty for almost a week now and Trip still hasn’t screwed up the courage to approach him. They’ve talked, to be sure, but none of it was personal and each conversation lasted only a few sentences.

Malcolm finishes his coffee and stands up. _Now’s your chance,_ Trip’s mind says. _Go; take it!_

“Where are you going?” Ensign Fisher asks as Trip gets to his feet.

“I just remembered somethin’,” he mumbles. “Gotta do a bit o’ work fer the Cap’n. S’rry I can’t stay around longer.”

Abandoning his half-eaten lunch, Trip chases after the Lieutenant. “Malcolm!” he calls once he gets within earshot.

Malcolm turns around, an eyebrow raised. “Commander.” He seems to be doing his best to conceal the surprise in his voice. “Stalking me again?”

“Just wanted to see how yer doin’.”

“Uh-huh.”

There’s an awkward pause.

“So,” Trip says, clapping his hands together, “where’re you headed, anyway?”

Malcolm raises an eyebrow. “Actually, sickbay. I have an appointment with Doctor Phlox.”

“I thought everythin’ was healed?”

“I can move my arm again, if that’s what you’re asking.” For good measure, Malcolm raises his right arm and waves it. “Recovery is a long process. After nearly two months on having to rely on my left, this one has grown a little weak.”

“So, yer basically ambidextrous now?”

“I… guess so.”

“Neat.”

The rest of the walk is taken in uncomfortable silence until they reach the sickbay doors. Without even noticing, Trip slips through right after Malcolm. What he does notice, though, is the lack of protest from Malcolm’s mouth.

“Ah, Lieutenant!” Doctor Phlox’s disembodied voice chirps. Moments later, the man himself appears from behind a shelving of medical supplies, the usual grin splashed across his face. “Right on time. Oh, Commander, is there something you need?”

Two pairs of eyes turn to him; Malcolm’s look almost nervous. “Uh, no,” Trip stammers out. “I came here with Malcolm. I was just leaving.”

“Alright,” says Phlox without an ounce of suspicion. “Good day to you.”

 _As if I could,_ Trip thinks as he makes a hasty exit. He pretends not to see Malcolm’s shoulders relax in relief.

\------

Malcolm buries the hurt he feels way deep down before he turns to the doctor. “How many more of these appointments should I be expecting?”

“Quite a few, I’d say, Mr. Reed. If you’ll step this way.”

Malcolm makes his way to the biobed and sits down; his feet dangling slightly due to his height. _Some things never change,_ he thinks with a smile.

His armoury didn’t change much, either. Ensign Meng told him that she’d kept the place as familiar as possible. For his sake, Malcolm suspects; though she would never dare say that out loud.

Phlox grabs his arm gently and runs a scanner up and down. “Wiggle your fingers for me?”

Malcolm wiggles his fingers.

“Very good. Can you move your wrist in circles, clockwise?”

Everything he’s asked to do is expected- part of the daily routine he went through back on Earth. Just like the doctors down there, Phlox seems pleased with the results he gets. “Everything seems to be in working order. Any pain at all?”

“None.” He hasn’t felt any pain in weeks, in fact. An occasional tingle courtesy of the nerve resetting surgery but nothing too worrying. “May I return to duty, now, doctor?”

Phlox frowns. “I would have hoped…”

“You know me, doctor. I get no comfort from being idle. Besides, it’s been almost a week now.”

Phlox still looks hesitant. “Well,” he finally says, “I’m sure light duties wouldn’t hurt. Be sure to get plenty of rest, though, hm? My scanner picked up on your lack of sleep.”

Malcolm’s face goes red. “I will,” he promises.

As he leaves sickbay, he finds himself wandering just a few paces behind Hoshi and Travis. They haven’t noticed him yet, as is evident by their topic of conversation.

“They’re still avoiding each other?”

“Seems like it.”

 _Well, damn,_ Malcolm thinks.

“You saw how the commander bolted out after him,” Hoshi says. “It’s obvious he still cares about him.”

“The lieutenant seems to be as indifferent as ever.”

 _Ouch._ Malcolm feels like he’s taken a physical blow to the stomach. Using one hand to brace himself against the wall, Malcolm focuses on taking quiet, steady breaths. The two ensigns continue walking, completely oblivious.

 _Is that how they see me?_ Malcolm thinks. _Just an indifferent, unemotional SOB? I’m doing this_ for _Trip, damn it! He deserves better…_

Malcolm realizes he must look like he’s about to collapse and he forces himself upright. Fortunately, the corridor is completely deserted. What was he doing? Right. The bridge.

He doesn’t dare meet the eyes of Hoshi or Travis as he steps off the turbolift. He sees them glance up at him out of his peripheral vision and offers a polite smile in return but that’s about it

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Reed,” says T’Pol. “It is agreeable to see you on the bridge again.”

“It’s been long enough. He turns to Archer, who is smiling so wide Malcolm thinks it _has_ to hurt. “Permission to take up tactical, Captain?”

“Permission granted, Lieutenant. You’re right on time. T’Pol’s found something quite interesting.”

All eyes turn to the science officer, who is staring intently at her screen. “It appears to be the remains of a destroyed planet,” she informs them. “The Vulcan Science Academy has come to the conclusion that an abnormal asteroid impact caused the planet to break into pieces, perhaps as recent as five hundred years ago. Captain Archer, I don’t see why it’s necessary to explore these remains when the Vulcans have already documented the most important data.”

“But that’s just _it_ T’Pol,” Archer sighs. “We aren’t Vulcans. We’re human explorers and seeing this destroyed planet with our own eyes is ten times better than just reading about it.”

T’Pol purses her lips into a thin line.

“Set a course,” Archer announces without waiting for an answer. “Warp two, Travis.”

“Aye, sir,” replies the helmsman.

Malcolm feels as if he could laugh out loud. He’s back – finally back – with his crew. No, his _family._ He trails his fingers along the buttons and switches of his console, careful to not accidentally fire a torpedo into open space. Everything’s alright again, he tries to convince himself. He’s back where he belongs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go horribly wrong during a side expedition of a destroyed planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a long chapter. Ten Word pages long. For comparison, most of my chapters are only five or six. It's also a bit jam-packed with action and dialogue and POV switches. You've been warned.
> 
> But please enjoy! I'm proud of this chapter in particular.

Malcolm restrains a yawn, hoping no one realizes it’s his fifth in the past ten minutes, and lowers the phaser he’d been checking back into its holster and slouches back in his chair with a sigh. He’s been up since four in the morning – awoken by nightmares he thought were gone. Though he wouldn’t admit it, they’d become more and more frequent since his reassignment to _Enterprise._

“Phasers four through seven checked over,” he calls to Ensign Meng. “No discrepancies.”

“Same for phasers eight through to eleven,” his SIC calls back. She puts the last one back into the box and seals it shut before placing them carefully in the cabinet. “Do you want to do the rest or should I?”

“I can do it,” Malcolm offers.

Meng brings over the remaining three phasers for Malcolm to check over, which is when the armoury doors whoosh open, revealing none other than Trip standing on the other side.

“Commander Tucker,” Meng greets enthusiastically. “What brings you here so early?”

Trip shuffles uncomfortably. He seems to be purposely avoiding Malcolm’s gaze. “I, uh, want ta ask Lieutenant Reed somethin’ if he’s not busy.”

Meng glances knowingly between them. “He’s just finishing off our routine checks of the phasers, but I can take over.”

“That’s not necessary,” Malcolm stutters quickly, but the ensign has already snatched the case out of his hands.

“You can’t avoid this forever,” she whispers in his ear. Then, flashing an innocent smile to Commander Tucker, promptly walks to the far side of the room.

Malcolm adjusts himself in the chair awkwardly. Trip coughs. Neither of them says a word.

“This better be important,” Malcolm eventually snaps. _Damn._ He didn’t mean for it to come out so aggressive. He glances away from Trip’s visible wince.

“It’s not _important,_ ” Trip says, putting emphasis on the last word, “it’s just an offer.”

“An offer?”

“An offer.” Trip squares his shoulders as if he’s psyching himself up. “I was wonderin’ if you wanted ta join me for breakfast.”

Malcolm blinks.

“You haven’t eaten,” Trip points out. “Don’t forget I know yer habits, Malcolm. You rarely eat breakfast anyway.”

“What, are you a doctor now?” Malcolm scoffs.

Trip’s face turns red. “I’m just worried.”

“As is everyone else.”

“Damnit, Malcolm, I’m-”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s _not_ pity!”

Silence falls between them and the rest of the armoury. Briefly, Malcolm remembers the last time this happened those four months ago. _History repeats itself,_ he thinks.

“It’s not pity,” Trip repeats, quietly. “Listen. I can’t pretend I get why you insist on pushin’ me away every chance ya get, because I don’t. Neither does anyone else.” He takes a deep breath. “I still care ‘bout ya, Malcolm. If you don’t return those feelings, that’s perfectly fine, but ya don’t have to be so cold an’ callous about it.”

 _I gotta say something,_ Malcolm screams in his mind. _Don’t just stand there staring like an idiot!_

Trip eventually gets fed up with waiting for a reply and scoffs. “Forget I ever asked, then.”

All too late, Malcolm finds his voice. “Trip-”

“I’ll see ya at lunch. If you ever decide to actually eat.” The sadness in Trip’s tone is painfully obvious. Without so much as a second glance, he spins on his heel and heads for the door.

 _Fantastic._ Malcolm folds his arms across his desk and lowers his head. _I just have to throw on my defensive face at the least convenient moment, don’t I?_

“I finished checking the phase pistols, sir.”

Malcolm raises his head again, forcing the tears away as he locks eyes with Ensign Meng. “Good,” he chokes out in a voice barely above a whisper. “You have the armoury. I’ll be in my quarters.”

Meng purses her lips and nods.

\------

At just the right moment, Captain Archer calls him into the ready room for the perfect distraction.

“A planet that’s been blown up?” Trip breathes. His eyes move to the screen in awe.

“’Blown up’ is a crude term,” subcommander T’Pol states. “In actuality, the planet was hit by a large asteroid approximately five hundred years ago. The impact shook the planet to the core, affected its orbit, and subsequently caused it to break apart.”

“So, it blew up.”

T’Pol stares at him with an eyebrow raised and says tightly, “Perhaps.”

“Regardless of what happened,” Archer interjects, “it’s not every day that you see the ruins of what was once a bustling civilization. The Vulcans may have all the ‘necessary’ data on it-” he puts emphasis on the word “necessary” “-however, we are explorers. I’ll be sending the shuttlepods out to collect data on the smaller pieces.”

 _This is perfect,_ Trip thinks. “Permission to be on one of those shuttlepods, Cap’n.”

Archer shoots him a look. “This isn’t exactly an engineer’s job, Trip.”

“I just need a distraction.” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Archer and T’Pol do an identical eyebrow raise but, fortunately, don’t question Trip’s choice of words. “Alright then,” Archer says. He swipes the screen and taps Trip’s name into the roster. “That leaves us with only one blank spot. We still have a good hour or so before we reach our destination – that should be enough time. In the meantime, Trip, why don’t you familiarize yourself with the data we already have? See if you find anything interesting.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll send Crewman Naiman up to help you.” A smile crosses Archer’s face. “Dismissed.”

The hour passes surprisingly quickly. Lost in discussion with Crewman Naiman, the early morning altercation Trip had with Malcolm completely flies from his mind.

In total, they find three sections of the blown-up planet that have potential. Naiman, in the science department, is eager to get a good look at one of the large chunks of rock, where small artifacts still survive, and outlines of old buildings are burned onto the surface.

Trip steps into the launch bay at 1400 exactly. Naiman darts over to shuttlepod two, where ensigns Hart and Marcel are waiting. The realization dawns on Trip that he still doesn’t know who’s in shuttlepod one with him, so he starts for the Captain, who’s already talking with someone. Trip freezes in his tracks.

The person has their back to him, but there’s no doubt that it’s Malcolm.

 _What the hell?_ Trip bristles. _Just what does he think he’s doin’ here?_

“Trip!” Archer calls, clearly having noticed the commander’s staring. “Get over here. We’ll be sending the shuttles out soon.”

Trip avoids Malcolm’s gaze as he approaches them. Malcolm seems to be doing the same thing.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by Archer, who knows them both too well.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two,” he starts, his voice lowered, “but whatever it is, quit it. I can’t have my chief engineer and armoury officer constantly avoiding each other.”

“Cap’n-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Trip.” Archer’s glare could shoot daggers. “You’re going to work together for the next two hours and I want _both_ of you coming back _alive,_ you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” says Malcolm.

“Loud an’ clear,” mumbles Trip.

Archer nods. “Good.” Then, raising his voice to address the whole group, “shuttlepod two, I want you to get as close to the core as possible. Or, what’s left of it. Shuttlepod one, you’ll be going to the outer areas of the rocks. See if you can salvage any data from the remains of the planet’s surface. You’re ready to go.”

“After you, Commander,” Malcolm says, gesturing for the shuttlepod hatch. Trip mutters a quick “thank you” as he clambers inside. The Lieutenant follows right after and settles in the navigation seat.

“Test one,” Trip says into the comm, “shuttlepod two, can ya hear me?”

“ _Perfectly, Commander,_ ” comes the reply. The slightest of bit of static hides behind it but a few adjustments clear things up.

“Cap’n, are we clear to launch?”

 _“Affirmative,”_ Archer responds.

Malcolm suddenly looks up with a frown and says, “Captain, are we sure there’s no one else nearby?”

 _“Very sure.”_ The Captain sounds like he’s trying to restrain a laugh. “ _Good luck, all of you. Comm us if you need anything.”_

Trip glances half-heartedly at Malcolm as he navigates the shuttle carefully out of the shuttlebay.

Malcolm meets his gaze. “What is it?”

“Yer so predictable.”

“Predictable?”

“Askin’ if there’s any foes nearby.” Trip steers the shuttle to the left while shuttlepod two heads right. “That’s just like you. This ain’t much of an away mission, Malcolm. _Enterprise_ isn’t gonna blow up just ‘cause yer not there. Anyway, it don’t seem like anyone’s interested in this place other than us.”

Malcolm slouches backwards with a huff.

“Whatever,” Trip says. “You can pout over there if you want.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“Commander, I am trying to remain professional here,” says Malcolm tightly, “but you are making it very difficult.”

“Oh, _I’m_ being difficult? Maybe now you know what it feels like.”

“ _Commander?”_

Trip and Malcolm both freeze in horror, eyes glued to the comm. “Bloody hell,” Malcolm hisses.

“Yes?” Trip says slowly.

“ _You left your comm open,”_ Ensign Marcel informs them.

_God-fucking-damnit._

“Thanks. Sorry you had ta hear that.”

 _“I’m not!”_ Ensign Hart exclaims in the background. Naiman yells at her to shut up.

 _“All okay?”_ Marcel asks.

“Everything’s fine. Did that…” Trip hesitates. “Did that reach the Captain?”

_“No, sir. Just us.”_

Well, at least there’s that. “Thanks again,” says Trip before shutting off the communication.

“Bloody good job, Commander.” Malcolm’s voice drips with sarcasm. Trip swats him away with a grumble.

They’re mostly silent for the rest of the time, bar the odd comment from Malcolm when something interesting pops up on his sensor. The rocks on the outer edge of the planet’s remains don’t seem to hold anything of significance.

And then, surprisingly, Malcolm finally speaks up. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Trip asks without turning in his seat.

Malcolm hesitates. “For this morning.”

Trip laughs cruelly. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Malcolm’s face is plagued with hurt. “Oh, that,” he scoffs. “Sorry, I thought you were gunna apologize for abandoning me.”

“Trip-”

“Naw, it’s fine.” Trip adjusts the heading slightly maneuver around a clump of debris. “Apology accepted. I should know better than t’ force things.”

“I didn’t abandon you,” Malcolm shoots back. “I left so I could get better treatment for my arm.”

“Sorry, Malcolm, but I don’t believe ya.”

Malcolm huffs and returns his attention back to the navigation screen, muttering something that sounds very much like “why do I even bother” under his breath.

Trip rolls his eyes and continues to move the ship around the rocks, when something blinks on the scanner. “Lieutenant?”

“What?” Malcolm snaps. The aggression in his voice is not lost in either of them.

“Are my eyes trickin’ me, or does our scanner say there’s a ship approaching at high warp?”

Malcolm clambers in behind, leaning over Trip’s shoulder to get a good look. Trip’s stomach lurches at the proximity. He longs to hold Malcolm close again like he used to; to kiss him senseless before settling into a cuddling session. When his face begins to heat up, Trip pushes the thoughts away.

“You’re right.” Malcolm taps something into his PADD and frowns. “A highly advanced warp-capable species by the looks of it. Heading towards us at warp eight.” He pauses. “Their weapons are online.”

Trip lunges for the comm the moment the word “weapons” comes out of Malcolm’s mouth. “Tucker to the Cap’n.”

 _“Trip?”_ Archer’s voice floats through, the faintest of static coming with it. “ _What is it?”_

“A ship, sir,” says Malcolm. “It’s approaching at warp eight; their weapons are ready.”

There’s a moment of silence. _“ETA?”_

“Six minutes,” Trip responds.

 _“Get back to the ship,”_ Archer orders. _“Hoshi, get me shuttlepod two. Warn them of the situation. Lieutenant Reed, report to the bridge the moment you dock, you hear?”_

“Yes, sir.”

The communication terminates. Quickly, Trip grabs control of the shuttlepod and turns it in a one-eighty so fast Malcolm is almost sent slamming into the side wall.

“Careful!” the Lieutenant snaps.

Trip snorts. “Well, ya shoulda held on ta somethin’.”

\------

As soon as the shuttlepods are safely docked, the crew wastes no time in practically sprinting to their stations.

“Stay safe,” Malcolm tells Trip. Trip lingers, just for a moment, before nodding and racing for the turbolift down to engineering. Malcolm himself lunges for the one around the corner, his mind too preoccupied to focus on anything but the fast-approaching ship and the fact that its weapons are drawn.

“I can see them approaching,” is the first thing Malcolm hears when he steps onto the bridge. Just as the ship drops out of warp, he sits at his station, heart thudding.

There’s a beat of peaceful silence as everyone takes it in. The ship is virtually camouflaged against the dark colours of space and for a moment, Malcolm is convinced it’s half cloaked until he spots a stripe of silver running along the hull.

“Familiar configuration?” Archer asks T’Pol. The Vulcan officer shakes her head. “Damn. Hoshi, open a hail.”

“No response, sir.”

This elicits an even ruder curse word from Archer.

A light blinks in Malcolm’s peripheral vision. He doesn’t even have time to warn the bridge when the first shot hits.

Malcolm grabs his console to stop himself from flying off the seat. Archer lands unceremoniously in the captain’s chair with a grunt; Travis’ head flies forward and almost impacts with the controls.

Numbers and lights are flying by Malcolm’s eyes. “Sir, that one blast dropped our hull plating to below seventy percent,” he breathes.

Captain Archer’s gaze snaps to him in shock. “Seventy percent?!”

Another hit. Malcolm grabs his console just in time. “That one disabled our port nacelle with some kind of energy pulse.”

“Well, fire back!”

Malcolm does. “It barely scraped their shielding.”

“Sir,” Mayweather’s voice cuts in, “they’re retreating.”

All eyes turn towards the screen where, sure enough, the enemy vessel has fired up their engines. It disappears as quickly as it arrived.

“What was that all about?” Malcolm wonders aloud. He gets no reply.

The captain practically slams his fist onto the comm button. “Archer to Trip.”

_“Trip here, Cap’n.”_

“What’s the damage report?”

 _“Uh, gimme one moment.”_ There’s some shuffling on the other end. _“Hull platin’ damage and they used some kind of energy pulse to interrupt the connection between the warp core and the port nacelle. It may take a while to fix. We can’t go to warp without it.”_

“Our ‘friends’ have vanished but there’s no telling when they’ll be back. How soon can you get repairs done?”

_“I dunno- anywhere between twenty minutes to an hour. Listen, Cap’n, as it stands, I got one knocked out cold in sickbay and one with a burn on their left arm. I’m a bit short on hands here.”_

“I can help, sir,” Malcolm offers immediately.

Archer nods and leans back into the comm. “Malcolm’s going down to help. Get this fixed as quick as you can: we need our warp drive back.”

_“Got it. Tucker out.”_

Malcolm’s already jumped out of his seat.

\------

Engineering is a flurry of activity. From crewmen checking over the status on the controls to medics flocking Ensign Wallace who has her burnt arm covered with a cloth, no one can catch a break. Especially Trip, who is drowning in sweat and sure his heart is gonna explode.

The doors are propped open with metal weights, so he sees Malcolm coming before he even steps into engineering. Trip rushes to meet him. “How long we got?”

“Unsure. Could be a mere few minutes; could be never.”

“Somethin’ tells me the latter won’t be the case.”

“Yeah, me too,” Malcolm says grimly. “What do you need me to do?”

Trip gestures for Malcolm to follow him. “Over here. That electromagnetic impulse ruptured some of the wiring,” he explains. He kneels down, Malcolm following suit, and tugs open one of the panels. “The electricity was conducted all the way down ta here, before they were stopped by the safety mechanisms, so fortunately we don’t have to do any work in the nacelle’s themselves.

“Our primary sequencer got totally fried: it’s going to need a replacement. Same with our backup antimatter resilience drive.”

“Captain said only the essentials for getting us out of here,” Malcolm interrupts. “What do you need me to do?”

“There’s a component for the sequencer in the second drawer on my desk.” Trip gives a nod in its direction. “Grab it fer me an’ bring it back here. Then I’ll need ya ta hold this steady while I replace it. Gunna have to be real careful.” Trip locks eyes with him. “You better have steady hands.”

“You know I do,” Malcolm whispers slyly before heading for the desk.

Trip watches him go, a smile dancing on his face.

Little under an hour later, at just the right moment, the comm chimes. _“Archer to Tucker.”_

“Right on time, Cap’n,” Trip says cheerfully. “Malcolm an’ I just finished that last o’ the repairs. She should be runnin’ like new in a couple o’ minutes.”

 _“That’s great news,”_ Archer replies. _“I’m glad you found Lieutenant Reed’s assistance valuable. However, I am going to need him back.”_

Malcolm comes up behind Trip, brow furrowed. “Sir?”

_“Our ‘friends’ are back, and I’d be a lot more comfortable if I had my tactical officer up here on the bridge in case we need to engage in a firefight.”_

Malcolm opens mouth to say something then, deciding against it, just says, “I’m on my way.”

“Engineering out.” Trip terminates the communication and looks to Malcolm, who is hastily zipping is jumpsuit all the way back up. His hair sticks out in wild directions and his skin shines underneath the soft lights of engineering. Trip smiles. “Glad to have ya down here, Malcolm.”

Malcolm reciprocates with a small smile of his own. “Happy to help, Commander. I’ll see you on later.”

A beat passes where they just stare at each other. Then two.

 _I want to kiss him,_ Trip thinks.

But then Malcolm turns and steps into the hall and Trip’s lost his chance.

Sighing, Trip turns back around to face the mess that is engineering. Warp drive may be online, but his work isn’t finished.

And Wallace is still hanging about.

“Ensign, get down to sickbay,” he orders. “I’m not lettin’ ya work with a burn like that.”

“But, sir-”

“Don’t make me ask you twice.”

Ensign Wallace nods. “Yes, sir.”

That’s when a weapon blast hits the ship and Trip is sent flying backwards. Unable to grab onto anything in time, he slams his head right against the railings of the stairs and collapses in a heap at it’s base. His vision swims; the shouts of his crew are muffled. _Don’t pass out,_ he pleads silently to himself. _Don’t pass out._

“Sir, are you alright?” Ensign Wallace exclaims. A hand grabs his arm and pulls him into a sitting position. Trip groans against the bright lights and shields his eyes.

“Fine,” he forces himself to reply. Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Ensign Almack glance to Wallace nervously. “I’m fine,” he repeats more insistently. He grabs the railing and yanks himself to his feet. “How long ‘til we can warp?”

“Um, less than a minute now,” Almack replies.

Trip nods and stumbles for the comm to reach the captain. However, Archer beats him to it.

_“Trip, you’re not hogging my chief tactical officer, are you?”_

“…sir?” Trip says, still trying to control his spinning vision. “What d’you mean?”

There’s a moment of silence. _“Is Lieutenant Reed still down there?”_

“No, sir.” He glances at the clock. “I sent him back little over five minutes ago. Is he not on the bridge?”

Archer hesitates before he answers. _“No,”_ he says. _“No, he’s not.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy ending? Who knows...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, he's not dead, I wouldn't do that to you.
> 
> ...he says as if he hasn't written two death fics.

Is he dead or alive? For a moment, Malcolm doesn’t know. Then the pain comes flooding back and he realizes he is most definitely still alive.

He isn’t sure if he wants to be, though.

Forcing himself through the thick fog that has clouded his mind, Malcolm cracks his eyes open into little more than slits. The lights flicker above, and it takes a moment for him to realize that it’s not just his hazy vision; that the lights are indeed flickering. Something, he realizes, must have happened.

Malcolm frowns.

Running. He remembers running. From something? No, to somewhere. The bridge. He was in engineering. With Trip.

Trip…

Malcolm smiles.

 _Let’s not get distracted,_ he chastises himself. _Now, what happened? What-_

Malcolm groans audibly as pain shoots up his leg. Yes, that’s right. Something fell on top of him. A portion of the wall, perhaps. It fell and pinned…

_Oh, bloody hell._

Malcolm could almost laugh at the irony. It pinned his left bloody leg down- the same leg he got shot in; the same leg the Romulan mine impaled.

 _If it’s going to give me this much grief,_ Malcolm thinks drowsily, _might as well just get rid of it._

He wonders if Phlox could amputate it for him. He wonders if he could be a tactical officer with one leg.

He’s still wondering these things when the world falls away again, taking the pain with it.

\------

Trip’s entire body has gone cold, Archer’s word echoing like an accusation in his mind.

_No. No, he’s not._

Malcolm never made it to the bridge. God, what if he’s injured? Or worse - dead?

 _“Trip?”_ Archer asks through the comm. _“Trip, are you there?”_

“Wh-what?” he stutters out weakly.

_“I said, do you have any idea what could’ve happened to him?”_

Trip swallows. “No, sir.”

_“Did he-”_

Weapons fire impacts with the side of the ship once again. Trip grabs the shelf so as not to lose his balance. Both his heart and head feel like they’re going to explode, and the world won’t stop spinning around him.

“Cap’n?” he asks once the ship stabilizes. He’s greeted only by thick static.

“Comm’s busted,” Lieutenant Hess announces from across the room.

“Well, fix it!” Trip barks. Forcing his vision to focus, he gets to his feet and heads for the door.

Someone grabs his arm. “Sir?” Ensign Wallace inquires. “Where are you going?”

Trip shakes her off and grits his teeth. “Get the comm fixed ASAP, then tell Cap’n Archer I’ve gone to find Malcolm.” With that, he stumbles out into the corridor.

Other than the odd medical crewman running to their destination, or even one of Trip’s engineering staff on the way to whatever part they’re most needed, the corridors are mostly deserted. Trip would have no trouble navigating through if it weren’t for his spinning vision. He feels sick to his stomach, too. A concussion, maybe? He doesn’t have time to think about that.

Trip turns left. A sudden lurch almost tosses him against the wall, but he regains his balance just in time. “Keep ‘er steady, Travis,” the engineer mumbles under his breath.

The light above him flickers. Distantly, someone barks out a command. Trip is forced to stop his search for a moment when what little he ate for lunch threatens to make a reappearance, but fortunately, he manages to hold it in. The attacks seem to have stopped. For the moment, at least.

As if on cue, he feels a hum pass through the walls. _Enterprise_ is launching weapons. Whoever attacked them is still near.

Trip’s gotta be fast.

“Malcolm?” he calls when he gets to a section of the corridor that’s been partially collapsed. Wires hang from the ceiling; bits of debris scatter the walkway. Trip’s heart lurches to his throat (or is that his lunch again?) as the worst comes to mind.

 _Hell, naw,_ he thinks. “Malcolm?” He stops, holding his breath, listening for any sort of response. God, if only his head would stop throbbing so much.

And then his vision steadies at the perfect moment and he spots some blue that could only be part of an _Enterprise_ uniform.

“Malcolm,” Trip says, no longer a question, as he stumbles forward.

Malcolm’s lying on his back with his neck angled away from Trip, expression morphed into one of pain. A small gash has appeared on his dust-stained cheek and hair is a tangled mess. His left leg is pinned beneath the pile of debris from the knee down. He isn’t moving.

Trip leans over Malcolm, desperately trying to assess if the man is breathing or not. Fortunately, he is. Trip leans back, but his relief is short-lived. There’s no way he’s getting Malcolm out from under that pile – which looks like it could collapse at any moment – and it’s very possible Malcolm has an open wound under all that, which could lead to blood loss and…

Trip forces these thoughts away and focuses on trying to wake Malcolm up. “Hey,” he whispers softly, shaking his shoulder, “Malcolm, can you hear me?”

Malcolm spasms awake, a groan escaping his lips, and Trip jumps backwards like he’d been burned.

For a good long moment, Malcolm just lies there, breathing heavily and moaning every so often. Trip, unable to stand just doing nothing, gently lays a hand on his shoulder again. “Malcolm?”

Malcolm gasps and flinches away at the sudden touch. “…Trip?”

“Yeah.” Trip can’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. “You with me?”

Malcolm offers a weak nod. “I think so. What happened?”

Trip shrugs. “You tell me. I’m not the one who went missin’ in action on his way ta the bridge.”

“Right,” Malcolm says slowly. Then, “we were under attack, weren’t we?”

“We were, then you came down and helped me fix the damage.”

“No, after that.” Malcolm frowns. “Again… we were attacked again.” He chuckles, which turns into a hiss of pain. “I’ve been here one bloody week, and all this has happened. What am I- a beacon for hostile aliens?”

“You _are_ our tactical officer,” Trip says.

Malcolm chuckles again and tries to sit up. Trip gently pushes him back down. “Hey, hey, don’t go movin’ yet.”

“My leg,” Malcolm gasps, closing his eyes. “It’s… it’s stuck, isn’t it?”

“’fraid so.”

“Grand.”

After a brief pause, Trip’s basic knowledge in first aid makes a guest appearance. “Where’re you hurting?” he asks stupidly.

Malcolm gives him a funny look. “My leg.”

“I mean other than that.”

“Oh.” Malcolm brings a hand to his forehead and frowns. “I have a bit of a headache, but my vision’s fine. Rough landing, if I had to guess. Not a concussion.”

“Yer way ahead of me,” Trip observes.

Malcolm smiles weakly. Trip could get lost in that smile. It’s that same, genuine smile Malcolm would reserve just for him back when…

It hurts him to think about it. “I should probably call Phlox. Tell ‘im what happened.”

“Good idea,” says Malcolm.

Trip is sure he stumbled by an intercom on the way here. Ah, there it is! A little farther than he remembered, though. “Tucker to Doctor Phlox,” he says, praying that the comm’s been fixed.

_“This is Doctor Phlox.”_

“Oh, thank god,” he breathes out loud. “I-I found Malcolm, but he ain’t doin’ too good, I really think you should come an’ look at him-”

 _“Slow down, Commander,_ ” Phlox virtually orders, _“I’m afraid I can’t understand you. Start again. Slowly this time, hm?”_

Trip takes a deep breath and forces his babbles elsewhere. “I found Malcolm. He’s got his leg trapped underneath this big pile of debris and I’m no doctor- I can’t really tell if there’s anything beyond that.”

 _“I see,_ ” says Phlox. _“Is he awake and alert?”_

“Sorta.”

_“And, where are you? What deck are you on?”_

What deck? Trip rubs two fingers over his eyelids, trying to remember what his exact movements were. Did he go up a turbolift at any point? He doesn’t think so.

_“Commander?”_

“D Deck,” he announces, adding, “I think.”

_“You ‘think’?”_

“I-I dunno, Doc, I’m pretty sure I have a concussion!”

A beat of silence follows. _“A concussion isn’t good,”_ says Phlox. _“Commander, I highly advise that you come down to sickbay-”_

“I don’t give a damn what your advice, doc! I’m not leavin’ Malcolm alone under there, even if you promised to teleport here this second.”

Phlox sighs in defeat. _“Alright, Commander. I hope you’re up for an extra two days bed rest in that case.”_

“Damn you,” Trip says, half-jokingly.

_“I am preparing my supplies as we speak. I shall see you in about five minutes, depending on what obstacles we may come across. It’s important that you do not try and remove the objects from his leg. You may end up hurting him even more.”_

“Got it. Tucker out.”

Malcolm’s eyes drill into his soul as he makes his way back over to the rubble pile, seating himself cross-legged at Malcolm’s side. “Phlox is right,” he says, “a concussion isn’t a good thing.”

“Not you too,” Trip groans. “Listen, I feel fine.”

As if to prove him wrong, a wave of nausea washes over him and he gags impulsively.

“Fine?” Malcolm raises an eyebrow. “Yes, you seem very ‘fine’, Commander.”

“Yer not doin’ so hot yerself.”

“Did you just say I’m _not_ hot?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Silence – awkward or not, Trip can’t tell – settles in between them. Malcolm’s grip on consciousness seems to be slipping and Trip’s energy is being sucked away by some unseen vacuum. Unsure of what else to do, he starts to smooth Malcolm’s hair back so it’s not so wild. Malcolm’s eyes watch him carefully as he does so, but Trip never meets his gaze.

“I’m gettin’ déjà vu,” Trip whispers. He means to keep it to himself, but either he speaks louder than he thought, or Malcolm just has really good hearing.

“Don’t tell me you played with my hair back on Orati.”

“In my defence, it was exactly like this!” Trip points to Malcolm’s head with a smirk. “An’ I know how much you like yer hair all nice and neat, Lieutenant.”

Malcolm tilts his head in agreement. “This is true.”

Another beat of silence follows. Then, Malcolm speaks up again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Trip raises his eyebrows. “Sorry? For what?”

Malcolm’s grey eyes flutter open, half-clouded by pain. “For hurting you.”

“Malcolm-”

“I didn’t leave the ship because I was needed better care,” Malcolm admits softly. “I left because I was scared.”

“Scared?” Trip frowns. “Scared of what?” Deep down, though, he already knows the answer.

“You.”

Okay, so he was _half_ right. “ _Me?_ ” Trip sputters. “You were scared of me?”

Malcolm winces at Trip’s rise in pitch. “I was,” he continues. “Do you remember when we were on the Southern continent of Desani?”

“Yeah?”

“There was that tree… monster-alien-thing. It attacked you.”

Trip stays silent.

“I couldn’t do a bloody thing about it. It was the captain who saved you. My shot went wild. And I was scared that you…” he pauses on the words, “hated me.”

“Hate ya?” Trip is aghast. “Malcolm, I could never hate ya!”

Malcolm’s eyes are shimmering with tears. “In the moments before the… creature attacked you, you looked at me. And I read betrayal in your expression.”

 _Betrayal?_ Trip mouths breathlessly. He intertwines Malcolm’s fingers with his own and gives his hand a squeeze. “I don’t know what on earth made you believe that, Malcolm, but it ain’t true. I don’t blame you or hate you for a single thing that happened down there.”

“I was bloody foolish.”

“You shut up,” Trip says. His voice cracks and he realizes all too late that tears are beginning to cloud his vision. “You just shut the hell up, alright?”

Through the tears he can see Malcolm frown, but he keeps going.

“Shut the hell up, because there’s no way I could ever hate ya. It broke my heart when you left me, and I was being goddamn pissy about it but y’know what? It don’t matter anymore. I love ya to death, Malcolm. Always have.”

Without waiting for a response Trip leans forward and presses their lips together in a desperate kiss, tears falling from his eyes onto Malcolm’s cheek.

“I love you,” he whispers once they pull apart. “Do you still feel the same about me?”

A warm smile spreads across Malcolm’s lips. “I do,” he says quietly.

And then they’re kissing again. Deeper, this time, the awkward angle meaning nothing to two men who have been apart for too longer. Trip can hear Phlox’s footsteps getting louder and louder, but it doesn’t matter, for all he cares about is Malcolm, and all Malcolm cares about is Trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my goodness, I actually wrote something that was more fluff than angst for once? Something must be wrong with the world ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note before reading:
> 
> As this story went on, it became less and less the angst & hurt/comfort I had planned and more and more like an drama & romance. As is painfully obvious from this chapter alone, I do not do well writing fluff and romance or anything of the sort. It's not my strong point, nor do I really enjoy it, actually. Angst is my style. 
> 
> As a result of this, the final chapter of this long story is admittedly not well-written. It's short and it's awkward but, thank god, it's finally done, because I was having a REALLY hard time with it. 
> 
> I thank everyone who's been sticking with this story since it was just a simple Tuckerreed hurt/comfort about Malcolm losing mobility in his arm. Your loyalty did not go unnoticed and it really helped me push forward in this final chapter! Even if it's not the best, I hope you find it, at the very least, satisfactory. 
> 
> -Scottie.

Trip sits patiently on the biobed, his legs hanging over the side, as Phlox addresses the head wound he received. “Nothing more than a small bump and a scratch,” the doctor chirps. “I’d recommend a bit of bedrest to let the concussion run it’s course.”

Trip nods absentmindedly. He isn’t really listening. His eyes are glued to the sleeping man on the next biobed over, the post-surgery leg brace peeking out from under the blankets. “He’s gunna hate that,” Trip mutters with a smirk.

“He’ll have to live with it,” says Archer. “And, anyway, it won’t be on for long.”

Trip turns to address the doctor once more. “When is he gunna wake up?”

“Oh, a couple hours, maybe, if the sedative wears off as expected. All done!” Phlox gives him a pat on the shoulder. “You’re free to return to your quarters, Commander. Please, try and get some rest, hm?”

“Trust me, doc, I’ll be out like a light.”

On his way out, Trip hesitates, turns on his heel, and heads back the way he came. Gently, he places a hand on Malcolm’s arm.

“I assume you two settled your differences,” Archer says, coming up behind him. Trip’s grin widens and he nods.

“I think everythin’s gunna turn out okay, Cap’n.”

A few days later, Trip is squeezing his way through the maze of chairs, trying not to spill the drinks in his hand. The movie’s about to start and he doesn’t want any popcorn thrown at him the way it was thrown at Ensign Maller last week. Finally, he reaches his spot, only to discover in dismay that Malcolm’s already eaten half the popcorn.

“Glutton,” Trip snorts as he sits down. Malcolm jumps a bit but soon breaks into hushed laughter.

“Sorry, Commander, I didn’t have lunch.”

“Bad,” Trip says with a wave of his finger, the way one would scold an animal or small child. “Bad Malcolm. And it’s Trip, not Commander.”

“Trip,” Malcolm corrects himself. He shoves the bowl onto Trip’s lap and snatches one of the drinks, grinning. “Lord, I missed movie nights while I was on Earth.”

Trip’s smile wavers as he remembers the nights he would spend saving a seat, only to remember there would be no one to take it. “How was it?” he asks absentmindedly. “Down on Earth, I mean.”

Malcolm considers the question. “Lonely,” he finally decides. “And quite boring. Let’s just say my… family didn’t help as much as they could have.”

“Aw, Mal, I’m so sorry.” Trip, of course, knows of Malcolm’s inability to get close with his family; he knows how his father Stuart Reed had pressured him into joining the Navy and virtually cut ties when Malcolm dropped out to join Starfleet.

“Yeah,” Malcolm whispers.

Not wanting such a lovely night to be ruined by awkward silences, Trip slings an arm across Malcolm’s shoulders and pulls him in. “Well, forget about all that for tonight, yeah?”

Malcolm leaned into him, a soft smile on his lips. “I’d like that.” The opening credits start to roll, and the room quietens. “What move is this anyway?”

“Ah, somethin’ called _The Princess Bride_. Travis helped us pick it out.”

“’Us’? Who’s ‘us’?”

Trip smiles. “Oh, just pretty much everyone on board, Malcolm. Think of it as a “congratulations on gettin’ released from sickbay” and a delayed “welcome back” present.”

“Oh.” The Lieutenant seems at a loss for words. “I didn’t realize I was that important.”

“Hell, Malcolm, of course yer important!” Trip almost yells it for all the crew to hear. Fortunately, the booming noise of the first scene drowns him out just in time. Lowering his voice considerably he adds, “an’ yer especially important ta me, Mal.”

Malcolm’s face flushes red. It really doesn’t take much to make the Lieutenant flustered, does it? Trip thinks with a chuckle.

“Yer adorable,” he whispers, planting a gentle kiss on Malcolm’s head.

Malcolm’s face goes even redder. “I-I, uh, Trip… I…”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Hoshi whispers from in front of them, turning in her seat. “Get a room.” But there’s a massive smile playing on her lips.

Malcolm seems startled to find her there. “Uh, hi, Hoshi.”

“Hi, Malcolm.” Hoshi turns to Trip, gives a thumbs up and a wink, and turns back in her seat. Meanwhile, Malcolm looks at Trip with the most innocent expression of confusion he’s ever seen. “What was that all about?”

Trip laughs and ruffles Malcolm’s hair. “Nothin,” he says. “Nothin’ at all.”


End file.
